


These hands I hold

by redlightofdawn



Series: pleasing you, pleases me [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ejaculation Anxiety, Gentle Dom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Light BDSM, Light Masochism, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Size Difference, Size Kink, Spanking, Sub Jaskier | Dandelion, blink and you'll miss humiliation kink, more like SURPRISE! feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23948308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlightofdawn/pseuds/redlightofdawn
Summary: Geralt's hands are justso big.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: pleasing you, pleases me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696861
Comments: 26
Kudos: 704





	These hands I hold

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to put this out much quicker, but, alas, moving 3000 km away during a global pandemic (with pets!) was somewhat stressful. Who would have thought?!

Geralt's hands are just so _big_.

This is not a new realisation. Jaskier has been noticing and lusting after those hands almost since the moment he met Geralt. He might have masturbated more than once just thinking about those hands, thinking about Geralt going through his sword forms, so strong and deadly, but also handling delicate potions ingredients, his hands clever and dextrous, because isn’t _that_ a combination?

But now, with Geralt's _exceptionally large_ hand resting on his backside - so big, in fact, that it covers almost his whole ass - it's size is really, ah, sinking in, as it were.

Fuck, he's going to come in breeches like a boy too green to control himself, isn't him?

Geralt hasn’t even _done anything_ , yet. He is just resting his hand against Jaskier’s ass, lightly petting him, for what feels like an _eternity_ , if you as Jaskier. The anticipation is enough to make him writhe and his cock throb painfully. 

He tries to focus on other things - his own flickering shadow as a soft breeze hits the fire, the grass and dirt under his fingertips, the slight burn the position causes on his calves and shoulders - but it is useless; his attention keeps returning to that warm hand on his ass.

And _the thing is_ , if this was someone else, Jaskier would probably be able to tell what the waiting _means_. If they were doing it to catch Jaskier unaware, if it’s simply another form of sadism, seeing him writheing and panting from just being over their knee, if they are deciding the best strategy, where to hit and how hard. If it’s simple uncertainty of how to proceed.

But this is Geralt, and Geralt is… unpredictable, when it comes to these things. He’d been the one to bring up spanking during their first encounter, but had seemed disbelieving when Jaskier actually asked for it. He was ancient and experienced, but had never really done _this_ , what they are doing, not with any sort of planning and discussion. And yet, when they got down to it, he was deliciously self assured.

The first hit takes Jaskier by surprise, and he yelps, though there’s barely any sting. But then Geralt rumbles, the self satisfied one Jaskier loves so, and it goes straight to Jaskier’s cock.

What can he say? His biggest kink is his partners enjoying themselves.

The next hit is much more forceful, and Jaskier slides forward, the heat on his backside and the grind of his cock against Geralt’s glorious, _glorious_ thighs dragging a very loud moan from him. 

Geralt rumbles again and places his other _enormous_ hand against the small of Jaskier’s back, holding him firmly in place and, _fuck_ , Jaskier is not going to _survive_ this, is he?

The next one is actually a series of firm strikes in quick succession - _five_ , his hindbrain supplies, trained to count way before he even met Geralt - with no discernable pattern over his cheeks and thighs. Jaskier’s moan turns garbled as he chokes on his own spit.

Just as Jaskier is catching his breath, Geralt hits him again - _five more_ \- and now the sting is turning into a delicious ache, just on the right side of painful, and fuck, Geralt is going to have a puddle on his leathers the way Jaskier’s cock is leaking. 

“Good?” Geralt asks, voice gentle, his rough hand caressing the undoubtedly red skin of Jaskier’s backside, the calluses dragging over the abused flesh wonderfully, smarting in a whole new slew of sensation. It is enough to make Jaskier forget he was asked a question, until Geralt pinches his posterior pointedly.

“ _Yes, sir,_ ” Jaskier barely manages to choke out, the throbbing in his backside and cock taking up all his brain, he’s _so close_ already.

As he realises that, a shiver runs down his spine, and not exactly the pleasant type. Geralt hadn’t told him he _couldn’t_ , but he knows from experience that doesn’t mean much. His face turns as heated as his ass - they have barely begun, really, he should be able to last longer, he has taken so much more than this in the past - but there’s no way around it, it’s _Geralt_ and _those hands_ , and the obvious _care_ in his voice and in the caressing, it’s all bringing him dangerously close to spending over those _sublime_ , leather covered thighs.

Geralt seems to realise his hesitation, because his hand stills, and the one applying pressure against his back also retreats. Jaskier can’t hold back a whine.

“What is it?” and Geralt’s voice is gentle, oh so caring, and Jaskier whines at _that_ , too. He’s had partners who cared about him, obviously, he’s not _that_ masochistic, he even had those who loved him, but it always catches him off guard, with Geralt. The man can be gruff, but during these intimate moments the bluntness coexisted side by side with unexpected tenderness and consideration, in such a heady cocktail Jaskier can’t help but feel spells disaster for the future.

Such _magnificent_ disaster it will be, though.

“I’m.. close, I’m not going to last much longer, I’m sorry, sir,” Jaskier finally brings himself to say, and Geralt huffs in response.

“I thought that was the point of this?” Geralt says, and there’s an edge of mirth in his voice, but also legitimate confusion, Jaskier can tell.

“It _can_ be, if, if _you_ want it to.” Jaskier’s voice is small, and he’s glad Geralt can’t see his face like this. 

“Yes,” Geralt, carding his fingers through Jaskier sweaty hair, and _oh_ , that’s _nice_. Jaskier feels the tension he hadn’t been aware of leave his body, relaxing fully into Geralt’s strong lap. “I’d enjoy that.”

“Oh,” Jaskier says. “Okay, then.” Geralt hums, and adjusts Jaskier position so it’s more to his liking, and Jaskier knows he’s taking a moment to get back into the right mindset, which he appreciates. The manhandling always does it for him, and any desire that had left him during the conversation is back with a vengeance. 

The first spank catches him unaware again, on the tender underside of his bottocks, the sensation specially intense since he had a few moments to cool down. It’s good, though, and he moans to show his appreciation, receiving a _hmm_ in response, one that reverberates on his side that is pressed up against Geralt. He receives two more strikes on each cheek, and the rough hand grabbing one of his cheeks, opening him up and exposing him, is unexpected enough to draw another yelp from him. Jaskier’s face is burning again, but this time the faint sting of humiliation at such crude handling is on the right side of pleasurable. 

The dry drag of Geralt’s thumb against his hole is somewhat less unexpected, but still enough to draw a high keen from him.

“So responsive,” Geralt says, but there’s no teasing in his voice, as he lightly tugs at Jaskier’s rim, only a strange sort of awe. “You look good, like this. I think I should like to take you after this, some day.”

“ _Please_ , sir,” Jaskier begs, because, yes, that does sound _sublime_.

“Not today,” Geralt answers, and this time Jaskier’s answering keen is frustrated. “I want to see you spend like this, just from my discipline.”

And yeah, okay, it’s curious how something that had filled him with nerves a moment before now sounds like such a _brilliant idea_ when said in Geralt’s sensuous baritone.

Geralt’s thumb doesn’t move from Jaskier’s hole, applying firm pressure, but not penetrating, before Geralt’s other hand lands a firm smack on the crease of Jaskier’s thighs and bottom. Without the firm pressure on his back holding him in place, Jaskier moves with the impact, grinding his aching cock against Geralt’s lap. And Geralt doesn’t relent, applying hit after hit after hit all over Jaskier’s buttocks, not as hard as he had before, but with such speed that the sensation builds up, hits overlapping without any discernible pattern, until not even Jaskier can keep track any more.

Really, Jaskier had no chance at lasting.

His orgasm is overwhelming and all consuming. He can hear his own moans and keens faintly as the sensation takes over all his senses. It is a good few moments before he realises Geralt has stopped his attack, and only because he’s being maneuvered by Geralt, until he’s rearranged on Geralt’s lap, leaning against his chest but with his sore bottom mercifully mostly off his thighs. The smell of leather and sweat and pure _Geralt_ is overwhelming like this, with his large bulk surrounding Jaskier, and as it always has, for far longer than Jaskier would like to admit, it makes him feel _safe_. 

He lets out a small sound of complaint when Geralt’s arms leave him, only to be gently shushed by Geralt, whose arms return quickly, but not before tugging a warm blanket - Geralt’s cloak, Jaskier dimly realises, warm from the campside fire - around Jaskier, bundling him up. He wants to protest - they are both covered in Jaskier’s come, and it will get all over Geralt’s cape - but he can’t bring himself to, he’s never been quite that altruistic, and he just feels so _warm_.

They sit like that, Geralt’s hand slowly caressing Jaskier’s back, his nose tucked on top of Jaskier’s head, for several long moments, as Jaskier comes down from the particular high this kind of play always puts him in. It’s only once his mind clears that the mortification hits him, with the realisation that Geralt hadn’t orgasmed. He can feel the evidence of Geralt’s arousal, flagging but still present, under his thighs. 

“You didn't-" he barely begins to protest, when the hand cradling his thighs presses down, just enough to draw his attention.

“I’m fine,” Geralt says, cutting him off kindly but firmly. “I enjoyed myself, but this was for you, Jaskier. You can make it up to me another time.”

Jaskier swallows down the sound of displeasure that wants to leave him because the last thing he wants now is to antagonise Geralt. He’s feeling rather raw, and he knows if he lets it, the feeling will grow into outright despair overnight. He tries to focus on Geralt’s ever so slow heartbeat, to time his breaths to it, even if it’s a losing battle, and just _be_. 

He’s not sure how long they have been sitting like that when Geralt speaks again.

“Do you want me to? To deny you?” Jaskier squirms, but he’s in Geralt’s arms, and Geralt is running his fingers up and down his back, and Jaskier is soft and spent. And it’s not a unfair question - Jaskier _had_ enjoyed being told, the first time they ever had sex, had been the one waiting for explicit permission.

“Yes? Maybe? It can be fun, sometimes, I don’t mind it, I just… I prefer to know beforehand, the uncertainty gives me the wrong type of anxiety, I think.”

Geralt _hmms_ , and is quiet for several moments, long enough for Jaskier to think the conversation is done, until he speaks again, voice unbearably soft.

“Is there a story there?”

_Yes,_ Jaskier's brain quickly provides, somewhat bitterly, remembering his first foray into such games. He’d been very young, and overeager, and the teasing had been on the painful side of mean.

He doesn’t want to talk about it, though. Maybe someday he’ll tell Geralt all about it, but that day is definitely not today.

Jaskier is still trying to word his wish in a way that will sound neither petulant nor instigate Geralt’s curiosity when Geralt comes to the rescue. 

“I’ll warn you beforehand, then, if I require it of you. But I enjoy seeing your pleasure.”

“Okay,” is all Jaskier can say, his voice small, nestling further into Geralt’s neck, letting himself sink into the feeling of being surrounded by that overwhelming bulk of a man. He’s not normally this _needy_ after sex, Jaskier doesn’t think. But there’s something about Geralt, something that makes Jaskier feel off kilter at times, yeah, but mostly safe and cared for.

_And those hands_ , Jaskier thinks as one of said hands cups the back of his head, fingers tangling in his hair, _they are_ good _hands, is all I’m saying_.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: What if I write some simple, straight up dirty spanking fic?  
> Jaskier: I hear you, but _what if_ I had a lot of feels instead?
> 
> What can I do, Jaskier is a brat who won't do as he's told.


End file.
